


Wild

by TakeMeOut



Series: Wild [1]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, RPF, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-13 10:11:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11757636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakeMeOut/pseuds/TakeMeOut
Summary: Peter has a secret - one that he's kept from most of the people he works with for years. But that's all about to change.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I realise that Wingfic RPF is pretty niche, but I had to get this one out of my system.

By the end of the filming schedule, everyone was reaching a level of exhaustion that made it difficult to think straight. The unusually remote filming location for this particular episode - a windy corner of Exmoor - meant that, for once, the cast and crew were housed in trailers, which didn’t help the claustrophobia that sometimes accompanied the intense filming runs. 

So it was with a slightly distracted air that Steven introduced Jenna to Claire, the actor playing this episode’s antagonist: a fairly standard villainess with a big sword and a misguided desire for revenge. Jenna didn’t recognise the actor - who was somewhat older than her - but since even a cursory glance at the script showed that Claire’s character was more warrior than philosopher, it was likely she’d been cast because of her stunt skills. 

Claire was deep in conversation with Andy, the stunt co-ordinator, ahead of the rehearsal for the major fight scene, which saw the Doctor nearly overwhelmed in armed combat by Claire’s character. Jenna was surprised to see Peter hurrying onto the set to join them for the discussion; she’d never seen him film his own fights before, normally relying on a stunt double instead. Her puzzlement deepened as he performed impeccably in the rehearsal, the main feedback from Andy being that - as the Doctor was more of a thinker than a fighter - Peter needed to display rather less co-ordination and swordsmanship in the actual take. 

After they’d wrapped for the day, Jenna went over to talk to Peter who was listening to something Claire was saying. “That wasn’t bad for an old fart,” said Jenna wryly. “How come I’ve never seen you do a fight scene before?” 

Peter hesitated for a moment, and Claire looked quizzically at him, opening her mouth to speak and then frowning as though she’d thought better of it. “Adding strings to my bow, y’know,” he said vaguely, and changed the subject. 

\---------------------------

In Peter’s trailer, Claire sprawled into a chair and draped her legs over its arm, watching him pour two glasses of red wine. “Why are you hidden, Peter?” she asked bluntly, accepting the glass he handed to her as he sat down. 

“Well, I’m not completely,” he answered, a faint frown appearing. “Steven knows what I am, obviously, and the others in the team who need to know, like Andy.”

“And everyone else? You haven’t even told Jenna, and you’ve been working together for years now.” Claire tucked her short, bleached hair behind her ears and looked intently at him. 

He sighed. “I’ve wondered about telling Jenna; it doesn’t seem fair to her, and she’s a good person. A friend.” He took another drink. “But honestly, Claire, when you’ve been around as long as I have, you work out that humans pretty much boil down into two types. There are a few who are far too interested in us, and want to know every single inappropriate detail, and then there are the rest. You must have seen it … it’s almost like a perception filter - they’d rather not know what we are.” 

“Bit like gay boy band members.” 

Peter laughed. “A bit. Anyway. They know fuck all about us, and anything they do hear they simply don’t understand. So they block it out, or even worse, they misinterpret it. And then you end up smeared all over the press as some sleazy unfaithful bisexual bastard, or whatever particular human-centric labels the hacks decide to slap all over you. So it’s just easier to keep quiet, sometimes.” 

Claire grunted in acknowledgement, and changed the subject. “You look absolutely knackered. When was the last time you slept?”

Peter rubbed his hand across his face. “Not sure. Not for a good few days at least. There’s been good hunting around here - slightly too good. Haven’t the Council spoken to you?” 

Claire shook her head. “I’ve been in the back end of Snowdonia for six months. I’m only here because of the job.” She grinned slyly. “Maybe the chance to see you came into it, too.” He looked up to meet her gaze, and his eyes narrowed in a faint smile. “So what’s going on?” she asked. 

“Not sure. It could be a major incident, or it could just be normal background activity. It doesn’t feel right, though. And the Council aren’t happy, but they don’t have a concrete reason to move everyone out yet - you know how badly that goes down when they’re wrong.”

Claire hummed thoughtfully. “I saw the sentinels when I came in.”

“There are about a dozen of them out in the hills at the moment. And us, of course. Watching brief, for now.”

Claire chewed on a fingernail, thinking, until Peter broke the silence. 

“Look. I can tell you’re bothered by me being hidden for all this time, but sooner or later this job’ll be over and no-one will give a fuck any more who I am, or what I am. And you’ve only got a week on set, and quite frankly I can think of better things we could be doing with our time.” She laughed, and leaned forward to kiss him, but he held up a hand to stop her. “Hang on. Let me shut the curtains first - the last thing I need right now is the papers bleating on about a 'sordid affair'. Or whatever the hell they'd come up with.”


	2. Chapter 2

As dusk began to fall, Jenna wrapped herself in a warm cardigan and wandered to sit at the edge of the trailer field to watch the last vestiges of the sunset ebb away, rolling her shoulders to try to diffuse the ache there as she ran over her lines for the next day. 

Below her, the hill dropped away to a small copse which had already fallen into darkness. Jenna rubbed her eyes tiredly, trying to remember one particular phrase that eluded her, when she realised that a shadow was emerging from behind a large tree at the edge of the copse. 

Instinct told Jenna to move, and she got quickly to her feet, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. The shadow began to move and - as a bolt of pure fear shot through her gut - resolved itself into a hunched, inhuman figure running at improbable speed towards her. There was no chance of escaping, or hiding. As she sank to the ground, covering her head, her brain superfluously provided the name for a creature she’d only seen a handful of dreadful times in her life: a Morbia. 

Jenna's recollection of what happened next was reduced to fragmented images and snatches of sound. Something - two somethings - shot past her towards the Morbia with a flurry of huge wings. Then there was the screech of steel on steel, the grunt and thump of powerful fists, and a rattling cry that cut off abruptly. 

A hand touched her shoulder and she recoiled in horror until a familiar voice spoke gently. “Jenna, it’s OK - it’s me. Jenna, open your eyes for me. Come on, you're safe, it’s all OK - it’s gone now.” Jenna peeled open her eyes and gradually began to make sense of what she was seeing. 

Peter crouched in front of her, frowning with concern. In one hand, he loosely held a double-edged sword which was dripping something dark onto the the ground. And from his back - Jenna scrambled backwards in shock - sprouted two massive dark wings, flight feathers fanned out tensely. Behind him, Claire sheathed her sword and wiped a thin rill of blood away from the corner of her mouth, stretching one bloodied wing gingerly as she watched them. 

Jenna’s mouth gaped at Peter, caught between the ebbing adrenaline of absolute fear, and astonishment. “You’re a Warrior Angel!”

Peter frowned in annoyance. “For God’s sake, Jenna, this isn’t the Dark Ages. Nobody uses that ridiculous name any more.”

She blinked and swallowed at his uncharacteristically harsh tone. “Sorry. A Vankar, then. You’re a Vankar.” It was a statement, not a question. 

He relented. “No, I’m sorry. That was unkind. And unnecessary. Listen, come to my trailer in the morning for coffee, and I’ll explain. I owe you that.” He flexed his wings slightly, and turned to look at Claire, who nodded her head into the darkness, one index finger resting on the hilt of her sword. “I have to go, and you should get back to your trailer. I’ll talk to you in the morning, I promise.” He watched until Jenna was gone before leaping up lightly into the night sky after Claire. 

\---------------------------

Peter greeted Jenna warmly the next morning as she knocked on the door of his trailer, the smell of coffee emerging from the tiny kitchenette. As Jenna shut the door behind her, Claire emerged from the shower with only a towel wrapped round her hips, greeting her without embarrassment as Jenna awkwardly tried to keep her eyes averted. Peter noticed Jenna’s unease and threw Claire’s top across the room at her. 

“Dear God, woman, put some clothes on,” he said lightly. Claire took the hint and disappeared into the bedroom, re-emerging fully dressed a minute later as Jenna sat down with her coffee. “Right, I’m on set in half an hour, so I’d better shift. See you both later.”

Jenna waited until Claire had left before rounding on Peter. “Jesus, Peter. You’re married, for God’s sake. I thought you were better than this.”

He looked at her intently. “You don’t know much about the Vankar, do you?”

Jenna shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but didn’t reply. It was hardly a secret that the Vankar existed, but everything else she knew about that race and their responsibility for protecting humans against the Morbia felt like it was bordering on mythology. 

“It’s OK,” he went on, his eyes creasing in a slight smile. “You’re certainly not alone. But you can’t judge us by human moral standards. We just don’t work like that.”

“I know … I mean, I’d heard about the …” She floundered, searching for the right words. 

“The promiscuity?” He stifled a smile. 

“OK, if you want to put it like that,” she replied cautiously. “But Peter, what about Elaine? And don’t give me that ‘what goes on tour’ line. I’ve heard far too many actors trot that one out and it’s still a crock of shit as far as I’m concerned.”

Peter took a deep swig of his coffee and pinched the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes in exhaustion for a second. “OK. Let’s start at the beginning. You’ve seen the Morbia, haven’t you?” She shuddered in response. “They’re immensely strong, and absolutely animalistic. How do you think you compete against that level of brutality?” 

Jenna shrugged, not clear where this was leading. 

“All Vankar are linked, in one way or another. Sex is a mechanism, a way of exchanging genetic material that creates bonds between us - it’s not exactly telepathy, but it’s the closest word to it in your language - that lets us fight together more effectively. It creates a kind of network, if you like, which works better against the Morbia.” 

Jenna looked faintly incredulous, and Peter laughed briefly. “OK, I’m not denying it’s an extremely pleasurable way of achieving that, but it’s still a means to end. The end being survival - largely for humans, but also for ourselves. The longer we live, the more we can do to protect the human race. We have our life partners, which is what Elaine and I are to each other, and we have other partners too. But we just don’t have a concept of immorality or betrayal or jealousy. We can’t screw each other over, or even lie to each other.” 

Jenna opened her mouth, but Peter interrupted her. “We can’t accidentally get pregnant, either.” Jenna shut her mouth again, looking slightly flustered, and Peter smiled. “Sorry. It’s always the next question. But having children is a conscious decision for us, never an accident.”

“So, Elaine knows about Claire?”

“Of course. Elaine knows everything I’m doing, every minute of the day; she can feel it. In fact, she started sleeping with Claire long before I did.” Peter was clearly working hard to keep the amusement out of his eyes, so Jenna swallowed down her shock and changed tack. 

“Who’s in charge, then?”

“Well, the Vankar have a Council, which helps co-ordinate where everyone is, and makes the tactical decisions when there’s a big incident with a lot of Morbia in one place. But most of the time we just follow our noses and hunt for the Morbia alone or in small groups.”

“So why haven’t I ever seen you do a fight scene before? Why now?”

Peter looked slightly awkward. “To be honest, it wouldn’t really be safe if a Vankar came up against a human in a fight, even a pretend one.” Jenna remembered the overwhelming impressions of inhuman strength and speed from the night before, and understood. “We’re trained from an early age in absolute control, but one misjudgement and you’re looking at a broken neck. The BBC’s insurance only lets me take part in fight scenes when the other person is another Vankar. Like Claire.”

“But she’s a woman, and she’s a lot smaller than you.”

“Vankar women are smaller, but their muscle composition is different to men’s - it’s much denser and heavier. The end result being that they weigh the same as Vankar men, and they have the same physical strength, even though they’re smaller.”

Jenna blinked. “Why?” she asked, simply. 

Peter shrugged. “No-one really knows. The most likely explanation is that Vankar have evolved to mimic the sexual dimorphism of humans. Makes it easier to hide among humans, which gives us an edge on the Morbia.”

There was a silence as Jenna tried to absorb this. Eventually, Peter broke it, looking down into his mug. “And I owe you an apology. I should really have told you this a long time ago.”

“Why didn’t you?” asked Jenna seriously. 

Peter sighed heavily. “It’s not always a piece of information that people take well. Some people … some humans … find it difficult to be around Vankar. The Morbia are frightening, and dangerous, and people associate us with them. Which is probably why humans used to believe that we were angels, sent by God to protect them. It’s easier to give us a divine calling and put us up on a nice remote pedestal than get too close.”

Jenna reached out and took his hand. “I wish you’d told me, but I get why you didn’t.” She looked into his lined face, and for the first time felt a twinge of worry for this apparently unassailable individual. “Are you OK? You look exhausted.”

Peter gave her a careworn smile. “I’m fine. But I am getting older, and I don’t have long left. And sometimes that makes you a bit too … philosophical.”

Jenna was shocked. “What do you mean, you don’t have long left?”

Peter shrugged casually. “Vankar don’t live into old age. As soon as your strength starts to go, that’s it. The Morbia aren’t given to pulling their punches for old people.” He looked at Jenna’s stricken face, and smiled. “Don’t be upset. A good death is what we all ultimately hope for - something to be embraced, and celebrated, not feared.” He broke into a sharp-toothed grin. “When I go I’m taking as many of those bastards with me as I possibly can.”


	3. Chapter 3

Later that day, Jenna left her trailer during a break from filming to see Peter already walking across the field. She hurried after him, and he seemed pleased to have her company. 

“Where are you off to?” she asked. 

“I’m meeting Claire, for a practice session.” Jenna looked questioningly at him, and he explained briefly. “Our lot are always training with each other. Keeps us sharp. And makes sure we keep learning.” 

"Do you mind - I mean - is it OK if I watch for a bit?" Jenna asked awkwardly, wondering if it was all right to indulge her curiosity. 

Peter shrugged. "Sure. No problem." He didn’t seem bothered by her request, and they walked in easy silence to a quiet patch of ground on the edge of the site, shielded from view by a series of empty equipment lorries, where Claire was waiting. 

Jenna wasn’t sure what she was expecting to see, but as the two Vankar began to practise hand-to-hand combat, she realised the completeness with which Peter had hidden his real identity all these years. The way he moved and held himself, the taut power of muscle and coiled sinew - the way he’d disguised all this became apparent as fists and feet rained down blows and bodies leapt and spun almost too fast to focus on. 

The two were evenly matched, but after a while, Peter made a mistake that was visible even to Jenna’s eyes: he stumbled, and Claire instantly kicked him in the throat with a force that made Jenna wince. Peter was thrown backwards into the side of one of the lorries and fell to the floor. 

From the way Claire spoke to Peter as he picked himself up, she was evidently angry with him, though Jenna had no idea why and couldn’t catch what was being said. Having established that Peter wasn’t hurt, she suddenly had a strong sense that it was time to leave them to it, and quietly slipped away. 

\----------------------

Claire and Peter returned to his trailer in silence, but once inside, she rounded on him. 

"What the fuck is going on with you, Peter? I’ve never seen you make mistakes like you have done this week, not in all the years I’ve known you." As she spoke she shoved him angrily backwards across the trailer until he sat back onto the sofa. "What's the matter? And why are you hiding it from me?" 

Peter exhaled deeply, and Claire relented, taking a deep breath before climbing astride him and kissing him once. "Peter. Let me in." Peter didn't reply, but closed his eyes and opened his mind to her gentle, concerned probing. 

With his barriers lowered, Claire sensed a responsibility that lay heavily on Peter's shoulders. A duty to people he cared about and whose lives might one day lie in his hands. A deep worry that something major was about to happen in this place, and that his strength and skill would fail when these people needed him most. 

She sighed heavily. "Oh, Peter."

"It's a responsibility."

"It's a vulnerability." She glared at him for a second, then her expression softened again, and she began to run her fingers through his grey curls, fingernails scraping gently against his scalp. Affection and frustration were palpable in her voice as she spoke again. "Look. Of course it's a responsibility - one that we all bear. But you're letting it weigh you down, and you're in danger of forgetting the joy and pleasure in life. And it's leaving you wide open. It's a risk."

She smiled down at him, taking the sting out of her words, and he submitted to her touch as she wrapped her fingers in his hair and pulled his head back, biting at his exposed neck as his eyes narrowed with satisfaction. "Listen to me, Peter. Just hear me."

He shut his eyes again as she sent a series of memories, emotions and images into his waiting mind. The belly-deep elation of rain-lashed flight over a remote, inaccessible mountain range, turning and banking in the freezing wind. The delicate sensation of hiding wings away, and the delicious freedom of releasing and unfurling them. The deep, instinctive pull of the need to hunt, and the ferocious satisfaction of the kill. Nights spent hunting in squalid city alleyways, and days spent fucking on the rooftops of tall buildings. Plunging into the ocean, wings closed away at the last possible moment, and the almost sensuous shock of the cold water parting before a streamlined body. 

It was a reminder. Of the importance of these kind of feelings, their essential part in the Vankar's strength and ability and inherent wildness. Things that he himself had helped to teach Claire when she was younger. There was comfort in this, and power, and he felt the familiar background chorus of other lovers in other places, all sensing his need, lending him strength. 

Peter kept his eyes closed as Claire spoke again. “Remember what you said to Jenna. How she didn’t push you away. You make more difference than you’ll ever realise, Peter.”

He nodded once, and opened his eyes to look at Claire, who was deeply relieved to see the familiar hint of almost feral delight in life returning to his eyes. Reaching down to rub her hand against him, she leaned forward to speak - slightly huskily - into his ear. "What was it, the first thing you taught me? The most important thing?" 

His eyelids flickered slightly as he began to harden under her touch. "Always follow your instinct when it comes to fucking and fighting." 

"And what's your instinct telling you now?"

He broke into a sly grin, and she pulled him to his feet. "Come on. Bed, and some sleep for once. We'll go hunting later, once you've had some rest - I'm sure the others will leave some Morbia for us."


	4. Chapter 4

Jenna woke the next morning from a strange dream which left her heart pounding to the sound of fists hammering on her trailer door. A voice shouted inarticulately from outside as she blearily opened the door, surprised to see the show’s runner, Tom, looking frantic. Jenna opened her mouth to ask if she was late, but he was already talking, words tumbling out over each other in his haste. “You’ve got to get out, Jenna - we’ve all got to leave, right now.”

“What’s going on?”

“The Vankar Council are evacuating everyone. There’s something big happening; I’m not really sure what.” He began to scurry to the next trailer, calling to her over his shoulder. “Get your car and get out of here!”

Jenna looked at the trickle of cast and crew dashing anxiously across the field towards the car park, and realised how many people there still were to get moving. She threw on a coat over the vest top and tracksuit bottoms she had been sleeping in, grabbed her car keys and started pounding on trailer doors. 

\---------------------------

Once she was satisfied that the trailers were clear, Jenna began to hurry towards the car park, glancing up into the sky and noticing that there were a handful of distant Vankar aloft and heading her way. Putting her head down, she’d almost reached the edge of the field when the downdraft of beating wings blew her hair across her eyes. She brushed it away and began to turn, but a hand was already gripping her elbow and Peter’s voice, grim with worry, was in her ear. “What the hell are you still doing here, Jenna? Everyone has gone, and you should have too.”

Peter was already propelling her, fast, towards the car park, sword in hand. “I was making sure everyone else was out. What’s going on, Peter?”

His voice was low, rough. “The Council has declared a major incident. There are three Morbia emergence holes opening in the area, and you’re right in the middle of them.”

“Emergence holes?” Her voice was breathless, heart pounding in her chest. 

“Yes. They hardly ever happen, but when they do, they’re bad news. This area will be flooded with Morbia within the next few hours.”

Jenna thought about asking where the Morbia were emerging from, but decided she didn’t want to know. With relief she saw her car across the car park, but Peter suddenly stopped, and his entire body tensed, narrowed eyes searching the bank of vans about thirty feet to their right. 

“Jenna - run to the car! Now!” he roared at her, but before she could move, a hunched shadow burst from behind the vans and darted towards them, clutching a cruelly serrated blade in one clawed hand. Peter leapt towards it and there was a rapid, powerful clash of swords, blood suddenly blossoming from the Morbia’s throat as it fell backwards. Before its body had hit the ground, another creature came dashing towards Jenna, sharp teeth grinning savagely and a short, vicious sword in each hand. She froze, seeing in a sudden moment of terrified clarity that Peter and the the Morbia were equidistant from her, both accelerating fast, Peter’s teeth bared in a rictus grin of pure rage.

Jenna clamped her eyes shut and braced herself for an impact that never came. There was a savage grunt, a feral howl that rattled away wetly, and the concussion of something heavy crashing to the ground. After a moment, she cautiously opened one eye and focused on the lifeless body of the Morbia in front of her. It took a second before Jenna realised that Peter’s bloodied body was also lying face down a short distance away, wings no longer visible. 

Jenna ran towards him, calling his name urgently, just as Claire landed lightly beside him and rolled him over. 

“Is he - is he dead?” said Jenna frantically. Claire touched his face, scanning his body until she found the source of the blood pooling onto the floor: a deep wound in his side. 

“No. But he’s in trouble.” Worry was written all over her face. 

“We have to get him to hospital, quickly,” Jenna said anxiously.

Claire shook her head. “A hospital can’t help him. I might be able to, but I need to get him somewhere safer. And you need to go, Jenna. Right now. It's not safe for you here.”

Jenna shook her head emphatically. “I’m staying to help him. It's not safe for him here either in that state.”

Claire stood up and fixed her with a dangerously piercing look that normally would have had Jenna running for the hills. "We have to get you out of here, now. There's still a clear corridor out of this area to the north, but it's closing rapidly. You have no idea how bad things are going to get here, and I’m needed elsewhere. I can’t stay to protect you, or Peter.”

Summoning up reserves of courage she didn’t know she had, Jenna marched up to the taller woman and glared at her. “I. Am not. Leaving.” To Jenna’s surprise, Claire dropped her gaze, and nodded reluctantly. “OK. It’s your choice. Come on - we need to get Peter under cover.”

Claire heaved the tall man onto her shoulder with little apparent muscular effort, picking up his sword in the other hand, and set off quickly towards Peter’s trailer. 

\---------------------------

Claire laid Peter down on the bed gently and climbed onto it next to him. "Come on, you bastard," she murmured, resting her forehead on his, and concentrating deeply. Jenna watched from the doorway, torn between anxiety and the feeling she was intruding on an immensely private moment. 

After a few minutes Claire sat up and looked round to Jenna. “I need to strengthen the link between us. Can you give us a few minutes?”

A look of confusion crossed Jenna's face, followed by a mix of embarrassment and perplexity as she remembered what Peter had told her about how the Vankar achieved that bond, and realised what Claire meant. A ghost of a smile hovered around Claire’s lips as she watched her. “Yes, even when he’s unconscious, it is physically possible, for us. And if I can make the bond stronger, I can help him.” Jenna nodded and shut the bedroom door behind her as she left. 

A little while later, Claire emerged from the bedroom, buckling her belt distractedly. 

“How is he?” asked Jenna, her voice low with concern. 

“A little better. He has the best possible chance of making it, now. We’ll have to wait and see. Come on in.”

On the bed, Peter briefly opened red-rimmed eyes. “Jenna. Shit,” he croaked. He tried to say more, but Jenna shushed him. “You need to rest.” After a second he shut his eyes, and his jaw slackened again. 

“He’ll be in and out of consciousness for a while,” said Claire. “If he can heal himself, though, it’ll happen quickly. A few hours at the most.”

“I’ll watch him,” promised Jenna. 

“It’s going to get rough around here. Keep the curtains shut and try not to make any noise.” Claire handed Peter’s bloodstained sword to Jenna, the leather binding on the hilt rough in her hand. It was enormously heavy. “Take this. Just in case. And …” Claire paused. “Good luck, Jenna. And thank you.” She went to speak again, then changed her mind and left quickly. Jenna lifted the sword with some effort, and went to sit by Peter’s bedside.


	5. Chapter 5

The rest of the day passed in a blur of fear and anxiety. From outside the trailer, unearthly shrieks, indistinct shouts and an occasional heavy thud against the walls kept Jenna in a state of constant hypervigilance, adrenaline making her jittery and restless. Every so often, Peter would regain some form of alertness and half-shout something she couldn’t make out, resisting her efforts to keep him quiet, before lapsing back into unconsciousness. His blood continued to drip onto the sodden bed.

After about six or seven hours, Peter sat abruptly upright, his face pale and clammy. He looked at Jenna with wild eyes. “Jenna. Fuck. What the hell are you doing here? Why haven’t you gone?”

Jenna frowned. “I stayed to help. How are you feeling? Are you OK?”

Peter rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Christ. We’ve got to get you somewhere safe.” Seeing Jenna’s glare, he gingerly rubbed a hand across his side. “Yes. I’m OK. We heal up pretty quickly.” His eyes momentarily lost some of their focus. “I think I had some help.”

“You did.” 

Peter’s eyes creased faintly at the corners in a slight smile, and he stood up, hefting his sword in one blood-encrusted hand. He tilted his head slightly to one side, as if listening, and the smile faded. “Come on. We need to move.”

\---------------------------

Outside the trailer, Peter barked something in a language Jenna didn’t recognise to a group of Vankar sweeping over the field. Two of them banked, peeled off from the others and landed lightly next to them. One of them was Claire - who nodded solemnly in greeting at Jenna - and the other was a dark-haired man that Jenna recognised as one of the production crew. Peter spoke briefly and urgently with them, and turned to Jenna, worry etched into the lines of his face. “We’re going to have to walk. The car will attract too much attention. Stick close.” The dark-haired man took to the skies again, circling above them as they began to move. 

After a couple of hours of tense, near-silent tramping, Peter held up a hand to stop them. “What is it?” Claire asked. 

“Listen. Do you hear that?”

Claire paused for a moment, then her eyes widened suddenly in alarm. Simultaneously, she and Peter both reached for Jenna, but it was too late to move. There was a huge roar, the sound of vast quantities of earth collapsing, and it was as if the world had exploded. Colours were inverted, shapes ran into each other and sounds were weirdly distorted and muffled. There was a shout: “Another emergence hole! Move! Now!” Jenna didn’t even have time to feel fear before the world went dark. 

\---------------------------

The next sound that Jenna registered was the wind, moaning eerily across the moors. She opened her eyes in a panic and tried to get to her feet, but a strong grip on her arm prevented her. 

“Steady,” said a deep voice. “It’s OK, you’re safe now.” Peter was crouching next to her, dark wings - which were revealed once more - arched around his sides towards her as if in protection, blood crusting on one cheek. Jenna rubbed her forehead and began to sit up slowly, snippets of memory returning to her. “How did we get out?”

Peter shrugged. “We fought our way out.” He didn’t elaborate further, and Jenna realised he was holding his arm awkwardly at his side. She sat up further, and saw that his left hand was loosely wrapped in a stained cloth. 

“What happened? Are you badly hurt?”

He shook his head, and spoke with obvious reluctance. “Lost a few fingers. It’s not serious.”

Jenna bit her lip, realising what he’d sacrificed to get her to safety, but Peter clearly didn’t want to discuss it and changed the subject. "You're clear now. Just keep going on this road and you'll be somewhere with taxis in about an hour."

"But what about you? Aren't you coming?"

Peter shook his head. "I have to get back. The job’s not done yet.”

Jenna looked into his steady blue-grey eyes. "Aren't you ever afraid?"

"Afraid? No, why would I be?” He bared his teeth in a grin. “This is a good life that we have, and I've lived it well."

Jenna gnawed on her bottom lip with worry. "But what if you don't come back?"

Peter smiled warmly at her, but there was a hint of savagery in it. "Say something nice about me in the papers." He stood, gripping her shoulder strongly with his good hand, and kissed her on one cheek. "I'm not sure you realise what it is you've done for me. Thank you, Jenna."

Puzzled, Jenna opened her mouth to reply, but he was already gone, pushing up into the iron-grey sky with powerful thrusts of his dark wings, body streamlined and wings feathering the blustery oncoming wind. She watched his wild, almost joyous flight back towards the battle until she could no longer see him, then turned and began to trudge along the road towards human settlement.


End file.
